


Last of Our Kind

by Salios



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Family, Feels, Griffin - Freeform, everkings, officialvarrictethras, papa blackwall, post adamant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a picture by Everkings on tumblr that is based on an ask by officialVarricTethras:<br/>"Okay, but Blackwall finding a nest with a hatching griffon egg? o3o"</p><p>This. This is what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last of Our Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everkings](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everkings).



> Here!: http://everkings.tumblr.com/post/108942427721/officialvarrictethras-asked-okay-but-blackwall

“Split up, there might be something here we can use. Blackwall, you know Adamant better than the rest of us, even if you haven’t been here in years.” Adaar nodded at his party, pairing up with Iron Bull and disappearing down a flight of stairs partially blocked by fallen rubble. They’d clear out passages to the lower levels with their Qunari strength while the smaller, squishier members of the party would scour the available areas above ground.

Blackwall split off from the group and headed towards the far tower of Adamant alone. He waded through the rubble, the dried blood between the stones and splattered where the elements had yet to clean. This place was hollow, empty. The souls of the dead and damned gathering together in bunches were the rituals had been performed and the veil was thin. He kept his eyes ahead, ignoring the whispered pleas from his fallen brothers and sisters. They had done this to themselves. While not all of them deserved their fate it was moot now, there was no returning from the dead and they were beyond his reach. So Blackwall trudged on, passing into corridors layered with dust, undisturbed by even the Inquisition soldiers during their search of the keep.

The pile of old stone he’d needed to climb to get into this corridor might have something to do with that.

The hallway began to widen and he paused, unsheathing his sword quietly, the rasp of steel on leather his only tell. He crept forward and into an open circular room. It used to be a tower, decades ago, but vines had grown in through the partially open ceiling since then, carpeting the walls with green and bright flowers. In one corner there was a circular mass of broken furniture, branches, drapery, and moss. Bones were scattered outside what was obviously a nest and a blood trail led to another room.

Eyes flicking between the nest and the far room Blackwall padded away from the nest. He followed the blood trail to find the still corpse of a Griffon. She was massive, golden-white fur and copper feathers. Her throat was slashed and by the smell it had been days if not a week or more that she’d been in here.

Another reminder of his fallen order.

Blackwall sheathed his blade and turned, shoulders tense. There was nothing else here. He left the room and padded through the open tower, feet scuffing the stone floor. There was nothing here for him or the Inquisition, he should look elsewhere —

“ _Skree?”_

Blackwall froze.

There was a rustle from a nest and he grasped the grip of his sword, legs bracing as he prepared for battle. Blackwall skirted the nest to the left where it dipped down to almost floor level and he could peer inside. Something shifted beneath a pile of cloth. A crackle of breaking shell and a _thud_ before another _skree_ sounded. The Warden furrowed his brow and flattened his lips together. From the nest came more thrashing and thuds before a bundle of blue cloth and feathers burst forth with a cry.

Blackwall swore and jumped back, slipped, and landed on his ass with a curse.

The creature was upon him quickly, pinning his legs and pawing at his toso. His sword had slipped from his grasp and Blackwall slapped the ground, trying to find it. He found the pommel with his hand and drew it in —

Only to stop.

Perched on his belly, looking at him with obvious joy — and curiosity — was a baby griffon. its beak was a dark yellow-gold, the ruff around its next a pale whitish-gold. Bright blue eyes peered at him while tufted ears twitched back and forth. A long, supple tail tipped with a tuft of white twitched back and forth behind a pair of bronze coloured wings. He could feel the prick of tiny claws through his mail and jerkin, the soft squish of tiny paws against the tense meat of his thighs.

The griffin gave another _skree_ , this one quieter, confused.

Abandoning his sword Blackwall sat up and gather the creature close. It let him, only a wiggle and the bat of an errant wing against his hair its response. How old was it? How long had it been here alone, without its mother? The chick trilled and snuggled close and Blackwall suddenly knew it didn’t matter. They had each other now, that’s all either of them needed.

 


End file.
